All posts for the month May, 2015

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Author’s note: this was my first attempt at writing a spanking story. It was first published via a Yahoo! Group way back in 2006, in happier times. I have tidied it a little. I’d like to think there is still some pleasure to be gained from reading it.

A Day In The Woods by Rod Cayenne

The summer sunshine was warm and cheering. Johnny Jenkins, 45, was taking the family dog for a walk in the local woods on a Saturday afternoon.

The woods were beautiful. They were privately owned but open to the public. Johnny and the dog loved the place. There had been a noticeable rise in vandalism lately, and youths had been digging up the paths to make bumps, ramps and jumps for their mountain bikes.

Just then another dog came rushing towards Johnny, and then the two dogs ran off for a romp. They ran around and around and then Johnny was almost knocked over by the other dog! Catching his breath, he noticed the dog’s owner approaching.

I’m sorry! said the dog’s owner, a tall distinguished chap in his fifties. Johnny couldn’t help admiring the man. He had a grey leather jacket on and a rather attractive silver beard. Johnny was attracted to men with beards and he always had been.

It’s OK, said Johnny. That is a gorgeous dog you have.

Johnny was regaining his composure. He leant against the side of the wooden bridge which crossed the brook in the woods. The other side of the bridge had been broken, and tossed into the brook. Johnny shook his head. Just look what those kids have done to this bridge!

It’s appalling! the bearded man replied.

Those kids could use a good caning, Johnny blurted out, Just like I got when I was at school.

Yes, indeed, said the bearded guy. I was a teacher myself. I wouldn’t have hesitated to give those vandals a sound thrashing with my canes. Although I probably shouldn’t say that these days! he laughed and, if Johnny was not mistaken, winked.

Sensing things taking an interesting turn, Johnny said, Mind you, I was a bit of a vandal in my late teens, and was never caught. I’ve felt guilty ever since. I don’t suppose you still have a cane?

As a matter of fact, I do, the retired teacher said. If you want to feel it again, we can go back to my house now. The dogs can play in the garden. My wife will be at home but she is used to me dealing with naughty boys. She won’t mind at all.

The house was actually a detached bungalow, with twin bay windows. Dingy-looking net curtains hung at the windows and the whole of the front looked a bit run down. Inside was brighter, but still there was something a little dated about the place.

The teacher shouted to his wife, I’m home darling! I’ve found another naughty boy to deal with. Please leave us in peace. It sounded as if this was a regular occurrence! Johnny wondered how the teacher found all these naughty boys. It must be his authoritarian air, Johnny rationalised.

I don’t have a study here, the teacher said. The bedroom will have to do. This is my cane cupboard! he announced with pride, and flung the door open.

Johnny stared into the cupboard. Yes, there was no mistaking it was a cane cupboard alright! There must have been at least twenty canes hanging there. There were various colours, pale bamboo colours to rich, deep browns. Some with a traditional crook handle and some straight ones hanging from thin leather loops. There were at least two riding crops and also what appeared to be a red, synthetic cane. Clearly, this was a teacher who meant business!

Johnny had masturbated to caning fantasies for many years, but now here he was about to experience something he hadn’t felt for, say, 25 years…

May I keep my pants on, Sir? Johnny requested. This was a clever trick he’d picked up from spanking stories on the net. The question led the teacher on, and assured Johnny that he would at least have his trousers down for the thrashing to come.

Yes, you may for the first six strokes, boy, the teacher said, But the second six will have to be bare, I’m afraid. Vandalism is something I cannot tolerate and deserves severe punishment.

So it was to be twelve strokes, Johnny thought to himself. Rather a lot, and twice as many as he’d ever had at school.

The teacher rummaged in his cane cupboard. He took a while and was clearly enjoying his task. He chose a pale and thin looking cane with a crook handle. He swished it through the air. The sound was terrifying. Johnny felt an erection coming on.

Over the chair, boy! the teacher instructed, Don’t touch your trousers, boy. I will take those down!

And he did! He unbuckled the belt and the trousers fell to the floor. The teacher casually felt the buttocks and then the erection in Johnny’s underpants. The old perv! Johnny thought to himself, but didn’t dare share his thoughts with the teacher.

Let’s get this over with, boy! the teacher said with an air of distaste. Johnny suspected he was relishing the moment despite this.

Yes, Sir! Johnny said quietly.

CRACK! Ow! The first cane stroke reminded Johnny what he’d been missing all these years. The pain wasn’t too bad, but then the second stroke came rapidly. It hurt a lot more and Johnny’s eyes grew moist.

CRACK! CRACK! More strokes landed and Johnny was regretting revealing his teenage vandalism. Soon the six strokes on the pants were over.

Right boy, I am going to pull your pants down now and I don’t want to see an erection! Is that clear?

The seventh stroke landed and it was agony! Please Sir, I’ve had enough! Johnny cried.

Don’t complain! the teacher ordered, This is long overdue, you vandal! Tell me what you vandalised boy!

Well, there was a bus shelter, Sir.

A bus shelter! The teacher was suddenly incandescent with rage. A bus shelter used by less fortunate members of society? Pensioners, disabled, young mothers? the teacher asked.

Yes Sir, sorry Sir Johnny cried.

You will be lad, you will be!

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK !

Soon the twelve strokes were completed. Those last strokes from that whippy cane really stung like mad.

I am so annoyed with you boy, the teacher added. Stay down for another six strokes. Bus shelter indeed! This time you will count the strokes and thank me for each one!

CRACK! Ouch! One, Sir! Thank you Sir!

Soon, eighteen stinging cane strokes had been delivered. Johnny was distraught. He hadn’t expected so many strokes, so much pain and so much cruelty. But somehow it felt so right.

The teacher was looking happier. He was the one with an erection now.

One of my favourite canes, this one, he sighed, I particularly like the crook handle on it. The shape is close to perfection and the sting has some real bite. He was certainly right about the latter! He took the cane back to the cupboard. The love for that cane and for all his canes was a joy to behold.

Meet me in the woods tomorrow at one o’clock, he snapped.

Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir! a very humbled Johnny replied.

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

All three parts of this hot F/M story by Rod Cayenne presented together for the first time. Over 18s only!

Part 1

The two nineteen-year-olds were sat on the bed listening to records. They were chatting noisily as the stylus hit the run-out groove.

“I reckon your Aunt Belle is really hot, Tim,” volunteered Simon.

“Yeah, she is, if you like mutton dressed as leopard!” his friend replied. The pair of them burst out laughing. “How about some Dylan next?”

Unfortunately, at that moment, Belle had been passing the open bedroom door and had heard the insult. She was mortified, especially as she had her favourite leopard print top on. She headed off to the kitchen, by which time the cruel words had really hit home. Tears formed in her eyes, and she sat and slumped at the table, head in hands.

An hour or so later, Tim let his friend out of the front door and they wished each other goodbye. Tim went to look for his aunt, and found her still at the table, looking worse for wear, and tearful.

“Hello Auntie, what’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? I heard what you called me! Mutton dressed as leopard, indeed! You certainly know how to hurt someone.”

“Oh, sorry, Auntie. It was just a joke!”

“A hurtful joke at my expense! Really, you can be a real beast at times, Timothy.”

If there’s one thing in the world Tim hated, then it was being called Timothy. Of course, his aunt knew that and this was just the first assault of what was to be a prolonged attack.

“You are rude and disrespectful. I really regret letting you stay here while your parents are in Australia. I’d throw you out if you had somewhere to go. Bettina said I was mad having you here, and she was right! Disrespectful and thoroughly disobedient. If you were one of my pupils, I’d have sent you to the headmaster for the cane!”

“Oh auntie! I’m sorry. Really I am. What can I do to make things right?”

Unfortunately for Tim, the tears started flowing again. He felt terrible. He fetched a box of tissues from the sideboard.

“I’ll tell you what. You can cane me if you like! Anything to wipe the slate clean!”

“Pah! If only! If only! Anyway, I don’t have a cane here.”

“I suppose you could get one from the school though, couldn’t you?”

“Don’t be silly. Have you ever had the cane, Timothy?”

“No, no. I was always too good.”

“Now that I find hard to believe!”

“No, honestly. I was so scared of the cane that I always behaved myself at school.”

“I see. It seems to me, Timothy, that if you had been caned then perhaps your general attitude and behaviour would be more adult and respectful.”

“Maybe you’re right, Auntie. I feel so awful. Really. It sounds crazy, but maybe I’m overdue for a caning.”

“You certainly are. But I couldn’t possibly cane you. Or maybe I could! Are you willing to take a caning, if I can get my hands on a cane?”

“Yes, I suppose so, I just want to make things right.”

She got up and walked to the phone in the hall.

“It’ll hurt, you know! I’m going to ring the caretaker, to see if he has a key to the head’s study.”

But she drew a blank. Mr Martin was not answering. Maybe he had the TV on too loud, for he was as deaf as a post. She decided to cut out the middleman and ring the head.

“Ah, Mr Rodbourne! Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday evening. I’m ringing to ask a favour. I’m having trouble with my nephew. Yes, yes. Exactly! You’re right. Bettina did warn me he’d be trouble. Yes, I’d like to borrow a cane from the school if possible, please. You have a couple at home? Ideal! No, no. I want to cane him myself, but thank you for offering. I know! He’ll be sorry, alright! Can we come over now? Mrs Rodbourne won’t mind? We’ll set off soon. Thank you so much.”

Less than half an hour later Belle and Tim pulled up at the head’s house. They got out of the Rover.

“Tim, you go ahead and ring the bell, and ask Mr Rodbourne for the cane.”

The ambiguous nature of her request was not lost on Tim. She was tidying the boot of the old car, when Tim returned.

“He wouldn’t give me it. He wants us both to come in for a cup of tea,” said a rather red-faced Tim.

“Oh right, that’s very nice of him. He’s quite a sweet man.”

That’s not what Tim had heard. Mr Rodbourne’s reputation as a strict disciplinarian had spread way beyond the grammar school. Soon Belle and Tim were sat in the spacious lounge listening to Mr Rodbourne pontificating about rudeness and the virtues of the school cane. Tim was really embarrassed; even more so when Mrs Rodbourne joined them. What was worse was that she was wearing a leopard print scarf! Tim could only hope that Belle didn’t tell all.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cane him now? You and Doris could watch. It would be better entertainment than The Generation Game!” he laughed.

“No, really. That’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but it’s a matter between him and me,” Aunt Belle sighed.

“Righty-oh then! I’ll go and get the sticks now.”

Soon Mr Rodbourne returned with two crook-handled canes.

“Take them both. One is thinner and will sting more, the other will bruise more. I would use both, if I were you. Use them on the bottom, not the hands. Bare bottom, if you can stand the sight. No hurry to return them. We won’t be needing them this weekend will we, Doris? And I have a new delivery due from the school suppliers. In fact, why not keep them? You might need to use them more than once,” he smiled.

Tim blushed. Soon he was in the Rover again, heading back with Aunt Belle. He was shifting uncomfortably on the seat, dreading what was in store.

Back at Belle’s she made him go up to her bedroom. She stayed in the living room, swishing the canes, whacking cushions and testing her technique. She had used the cane before, but that was a long time ago. Ten minutes or so later, she climbed the stairs quietly. Tim was sat on the bed, looking worried.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to be doing this tonight, I must say,” she laughed at him. “Mr Rodbourne recommended a bare bottom, didn’t he?”

Tim’s face reddened yet again. “Yes he did, Auntie. But that’s up to you. I’ll do whatever you decide.”

“Trousers and pants down then, Timothy.” His luck had run out. His boyish bottom and mannish penis were soon displayed to her.

“How many, Auntie?”

“A lot, I think! The traditional six won’t be enough. That’s for kids. You’re a man. You can take a lot more.”

Tim wasn’t so sure. He was alarmed by his aunt’s enthusiasm for dishing out a generous beating. He couldn’t understand how she, and earlier Mr Rodbourne, treated the matter so light-heartedly.

“Bend over!”

Swish-Crack! The whippy cane made first contact with the nineteen year-old’s bottom. It stung but it wasn’t too bad.

Tim was gasping and squirming now as Aunt Belle laid into him some more. The cane hurt alright and gradually he began to yelp and cry as she beat him. He was feeling sorry for himself as the wicked cane whipped down again and again.

“That will do for now. I’ll give you some more in the morning, I think. With the thicker cane!”

“Yes, Auntie. Thank you. I’m sorry. I deserved that.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Now off to bed with you!”

“But Auntie, it’s only half-past eight!”

“Just do as you’re told, unless you want some more caning now?”

Tim apologised and went off to his room. Belle put the cane down. She had enjoyed beating him. She felt a little guilty about that. But only a little. She was deciding what to wear tomorrow. Perhaps that newish leopard print trouser suit? Yes! that would be wonderfully appropriate. She would give him the thrashing of his life while wearing it! She felt moist and strangely turned on. She would have to masturbate.

In his room, Tim felt his sore bottom. The individual cane strokes had not been too bad, but the cumulative effect had been close to overwhelming. He was pleased that he hadn’t broken down. He had taken his punishment like a man. He felt strangely turned on, and of course, he had to masturbate.

Part 2

Simon Freshbrook knocked at the door.

“Oh hello Belle, I didn’t think you would be here. I was looking for Tim!”

“Yes, of course. But Timothy isn’t here. He’s gone to London for the day. It was my idea. I couldn’t stand having him around! He’s not in my good books.”

“Yes, I heard!” said Simon knowingly.

“Oh you heard did you, Simon? I wonder just how much you’ve heard? What a pity Timothy can’t be a good boy like you. Why don’t you come in for a minute?”

He wasn’t sure he should. After all, this was the fearsome leopard woman who had caned his friend! However, curiosity got the better of him, so he followed her inside. They sat down in the living room. Belle had some coffee percolating, so she offered him a mug. Despite the coffee, the room smelt of incense and patchouli.

Soon the conversation worked around to the mutton comment.

“I thought you’d be mad at me for laughing at his joke.”

“Well, I was for a few minutes. But then I remembered you had described me as hot. So I was quite flattered, really. Especially when I thought about it in bed.”

He blushed with embarrassment, “Oh yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“There’s no need to blush, Simon. You really are a sweet, sweet man.”

Simon was still rather embarrassed, especially as Belle patted his knee affectionately. He decided to change the subject, but there was only one on his mind. The cane!

“Err, I heard about the canings…”

“Yes, I thought Timothy might tell you about them. What did he say exactly?”

“Well, he said you borrowed a couple of canes from old Mr Rodbourne. He said that the evening caning wasn’t too bad. In fact, he said it turned him on a bit. But the morning one with the thicker cane was absolute hell.”

“I see! Turned on? Well, we can’t have that, can we? Anyway, I did get carried away the second time. I beat him like crazy.”

“Yes, but you were probably right to. Tim’s awfully immature. I sometimes wonder why I hang around with him. He is just like a naughty schoolboy, so a caning is just what he needed.”

“What a sensible man you are, Simon!” She stroked his knee this time. It wasn’t long before Belle and Simon were kissing passionately.

She led him upstairs to her bedroom. The very bedroom where his friend had received two canings, only a matter of hours apart. They spent the whole morning together. The sex was fantastic.

“I really should be moving on, Belle,” Simon said as he glanced at the bedside clock, “if only because Tim might come back early.”

“Screw him!” laughed Belle, as she lit a Gitanes cigarette. She didn’t believe her nephew would dare come back so soon.

“No, stick to screwing me!” laughed Simon. They cuddled.

“Belle, I wonder if I may see the canes, please? You do still have them, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr Rodbourne said that I could keep them. He’s so kind and thoughtful. As is his wife. The canes are hanging on the rail in that wardrobe over there. You can have a look if you really want to, but I can’t see the fascination.”

Belle was one of those people who didn’t understand how the British male’s psyche is forever scarred by the shadow of the cane.

Simon made his way over to the wardrobe. He was still naked, and Belle couldn’t help thinking about how it would be fun to cane him, too. He returned to the bed, holding the two canes.

“Gosh! I’ve never had the cane. I bet it hurts. Shouldn’t I receive some punishment for laughing at Tim’s joke?”

“Yes, indeed you should Simon! Six hard strokes on your naked bottom with the thinner cane, for starters, I should think!”

“Yes please, Belle. Shall I touch my toes?”

“No, I don’t hold with that nonsense. Get on all fours on the bed, and I’ll thrash you like that.”

And she did!

Swish-Crack!

“Owwww!”

Swish-Crack!

“Arrgh!”

Swish-Crack!

Swish-Crack!

“Ouch!”

Swish-Crack!

“OWWWW!”

Swish-Crack!

“ARRRGHH!”

He had taken the strokes comparatively well, and he had become aroused again. Inevitably, he entered her again, and she clasped on to his ridged arse, as it bobbed up and down as he thrust into her. It felt great.

“We should make this a regular thing once Tim has gone back to his parents. Don’t you agree?” she asked him.

“Really?”

“Yes really, Belle. I’m a very naughty boy!”

“You certainly are, you certainly are.”

Part 3

Tim’s Aunt Belle was sorting out his washing. She was still very annoyed with him for his hurtful remarks. She had caned him twice for his sins. Even a wild morning of sex and caning with Tim’s friend Simon had only lifted her mood for a short time, although there was the promise of repeat performances. She became exasperated as she sorted Tim’s underwear. It all had tell-tale cum leakage in. And then she saw them. A pair of leopard print briefs! Was he having another joke at her expense? She examined them closely. Slightly cum stained, of course. Yes, they appeared to be new. So he was poking fun at her again, was he? She became agitated, and a little tearful again.

Gradually, she calmed down. A plan was forming in her mind. She went into her bedroom, and headed for the wardrobe. There, hanging on the rail were the two canes Mr Rodbourne had given her. Yes, it was high time they saw some more action! She removed them both and cradled them. Then she swished them around. How she loved the sound they made. Even better, was the sound they made when they made contact with bare male flesh! Today, they would be doing just that once again!

Tim returned to his Aunt’s at about 6.15. His bus had been delayed. He headed to his bedroom. On the unmade bed, his Aunt’s two canes were laid neatly. Right next to them were his new leopard print underpants. He gulped. He’d been looking forward to a quick wank before eating, but it looked like events would be taking a rather different direction. Indeed, he was sure of it as he felt the frosty presence of Aunt Belle immediately behind him.

“Well, I’m waiting for an explanation, Timothy!” she exclaimed.

Rather foolishly, Tim decided to play it cocky.

“An explanation of what Auntie?”

“Those leopard print briefs, of course. Are you poking fun at me and my taste in clothes again?”

“Oh no, Auntie. I meant them as a tribute to you. I happened to see them, and I thought of you.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, Auntie. You won’t be needing those canes today, really.”

“Just one problem, Timothy.”

“And what’s that Auntie?”

“I don’t believe a single word you’re saying. I’m going to cane you again. I was going to refuse to do your washing for you, but I’m not sure I can trust you not to break my washing machine.”

“Oh Auntie! My bottom’s only just recovered from the two canings. Please!”

“Get your jeans and pants off. Hurry!”

Once again his teenage bottom was presented to her for chastisement. Was it fair? Was it righteous? Was it deserved? Was it hell!

She lined the thicker cane up against his bottom and tapped it gently. She was anticipating his discomfort and her pleasure. Suddenly, a vision of Mr Rodbourne, the headmaster, popped into her head. He seemed to be egging her on. She sliced the cane down on Tim’s backside. He wailed!

Again she raised the cane and slashed it down again. Ah yes! It was making that sound she loved. The sound of rattan on bare male flesh! Tim too was making a sound she’d come to love as well. The sound of agony! How gratifying it all was. At the same time, it struck Belle how immature Tim was. His looks, his deportment, his attitude. In identifying this to Belle, his friend Simon Freshbrook had been completely correct. She slashed the cane down again.

“I think we’ll stop there, Timothy.”

Tim breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, we’ll stop there just for a minute while you put your leopard print underpants on for me. Then you can bend over for six strokes on them.”

Tim was furious that his aunt was playing games with him. He couldn’t help but feel that he did deserve this treatment, however. Despite what he’d said to her, he had bought that underwear to tease and goad her. Stupidly, he’d forgotten about the rattan consequences that could easily follow such an upset. Meanwhile, his aunt was lining the cane up again.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

“Let me pull them down for you Timothy. Another six, I think!”

“Oh no, Auntie, please, please!”

She pulled the leopard briefs down and then took them off him completely. She snapped the elastic waistband a little and then examined inside the briefs. A little damp patch of pre-cum was visible.

“I do hope you’re not finding this caning arousing, Timothy. That would never do. It would make me very angry indeed. You wouldn’t want to make me angry again, would you?”

“No definitely not, Auntie. Anything to keep you happy.”

“Well six hard strokes on your bare bottom will make me happy.”

“Yes, Auntie.”

“But just to drive home the lesson, I want you to put those lovely leopard underpants on your head while I thrash you!”

“Oh Auntie, that’s a bit kinky!”

“Shut up Timothy. I don’t do kinky. I do do a mean caning though. Put those pants on your thick head, and bend over again!”

So it was that Tim put the pants on his head, and bent over the bed, once again offering his backside submissively.

SWISH-CRACK! The cane sliced into his already sore buttocks.

SWISH-CRACK! How stupid Tim looked with the pants on his head and his arse reddening rapidly.

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK! Belle laughed. What fun this was.

SWISH-CRACK! Tim gasped. This was no fun at all.

SWISH-CRACK! It was over. Belle pulled the underpants off her nephew’s head.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Reposted erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. Over-18s only!

1. WELL BEFORE THE HAPPY DAY

“Gerald, may I have a quiet word?”

“Yes, of course, wedding nerves?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m quite relaxed about that, as is Judith. I’ll try to be a good husband and make you a proud father-in-law. It’s about that early wedding present. The cane you’ve given her. What’s that all about?”

“Oh that! Well, it’s just in case, really. I don’t approve of hitting women, but I am a great believer in males needing a touch of discipline.”

“But I’m twenty-nine!”

“Yes, and Judith is a good deal older and more responsible than you are, son. I just thought it might help. Just in case there are problems.”

“Help? Problems? It sounds pretty barbaric to me!”

“Oh I don’t think so Jason, my boy. You see, I have experience of these matters. Two successful marriages, and a successful teaching career. I hope Judith will never need to use that cane.”

“Well I’m not happy about it.”

“Take my tip, Jason, just be loyal, hard-working and honest. Judith won’t need to use the cane then.”

2. A LITTLE NEARER THE HAPPY DAY

“Hello Gerald, I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unexpectedly.”

“Not at all, Jason. The door’s always open, you are family now, or will be soon. What brings you here? Missing Judith while she’s on her course?”

“You’ve come here about nothing?”

“No, no. It’s that cane thing again. I’m worried.”

“What’s worrying me is, it’s going to hurt.”

“Yes…”

“Well, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Judith if she does decide to use it. I need to know how bad it is. I wondered if you could demonstrate?”

“Eh? Let me see if I’ve got this right? You want to sample the cane? And you want me to give it to you?”

“Er, no. I don’t really want it. But, maybe you should. I want this marriage to work, even in the bad times.”

“Well, I don’t know. This is a most unusual request.”

“Well, you caused it Gerald, by giving Judith that damned cane!”

“Hmmm. We do seem to have an attitude problem, Jason. Perhaps a taste of the cane would be appropriate.”

“Oh!”

“Not so keen now, then?”

“I’m not keen at all, it just seems like a good idea. Oh, and I don’t want Judith to know, please.”

“Tut, tut! Secrets, too! Alright, alright. I can see your point of view is reasonable enough. Let’s do it, and keep it our little in-laws secret!”

“Thanks, Dad, er Gerald I mean.”

“You probably won’t feel like thanking me afterwards!”

“No, maybe not, how’s this going to work then?”

“Well, let’s see then. I think six of the best to get rid of any residual attitude problem.”

“Six!”

“Yes, a good round number. You can keep your trousers on. Not that Judith may be that kind if it comes to it.”

“Oh!”

“We’ll do it in my study room. You can bend over the desk. Upstairs now, please.” The two men climbed the stairs. Jason went first, which gave Gerald a good chance to survey the bottom he was about to cane. It was a peach!

“In here?”

“Yes, that’s it. Over the desk!” Gerald instructed as he wandered over to the brass umbrella stand in the corner and selected a crook-handled cane. He sliced it through the air a few times. Jason flinched each time the cane swished. Gerald was minded to offer his future son-in-law the opportunity to back out, but then he decided not to. After all, in some ways he was looking forward to demonstrating just who was the boss. He looked at the rump offered submissively before him. It was a very tempting target. Best get stuck in!

SWISH-CRACK!

“AARGH!”

Jason leapt up clutching at his sore arse. This was murder!

“JASON, JUST YOU GET BACK DOWN THIS INSTANT!” boomed Gerald. He was minded to award a penalty stroke but decided to see how the next stroke was received.

SWISH-CRACK! “Yeeeowwww!” At least he stayed down this time.

SWISH-CRACK! “Arrrghhh!” What a noisy boy he was! Hardly like a twenty-nine-year-old…

SWISH-CRACK! “Arrrgghh!”

SWISH-CRACK! “Owww!”

SWISH-CRACK! “Ouch!”

The prescribed six strokes had been delivered. Gerald returned the cane to the umbrella stand, giving a hearty laugh as he did so. “So how was the picnic?” he asked Jason who was still bent over the desk. “You can get up now.”

“Thanks, and yes, that was no picnic!”

“Now, let me see the marks.

You didn’t take it very well, Jason, I’m afraid. In fact, it was a pretty poor performance. Leaping up and all that noise!”

“Sorry Gerald. I was surprised how bad it was.”

“Good, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Now you know what to expect from Judith if you mess her about. And it goes to show I was right about your immaturity. Any trouble, and you’ll have me and my cane to reckon with as well. Is that clear?”

“Er yes, of course!” What an alarming development for Jason…

“Now if my calculations are right, there’s six weeks until the wedding. I suggest I give you another caning one month from today, so that’s the 12th of September. That will give your bottom time to be cleared up in time for the honeymoon. It’ll do you good and you need the experience.”

“Gosh no, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Believe me, I know what some men need and you are definitely in that category.” Already, Gerald was thinking in terms of twelve strokes for the next session. He was proud of Jason in a way. The lad’s peachy arse was just made for the whippiest of canes. He mused to himself that some more, perhaps monthly thrashings might be required, even after the wedding. Maybe not?

3. AFTER THE HONEYMOON

Judith stared at the mess in the kitchen. The living room was no better. Her new husband was turning into a bit of a slob, if she wasn’t much mistaken. He was sat on the sofa eating crisps and watching rugby on the TV. It was now or never!

“Jason, come here. What’s the meaning of this mess? Get me the cane, it’s under our bed!”

“Oh Judith, I’m sorry, let me tidy up.”

She scowled at him and ordered, “The cane! Now!”

Sheepishly, he went upstairs and retrieved the cane from its hiding place. He gulped as he realised the moment he had been dreading had arrived. At least Gerald’s canings had prepared him. He knew what to expect. Or did he?

“Right! Give me that cane now! I’m going to give you a bloody good whipping. I’m not putting up with this any longer. Have you had the cane before?” She whipped the cane through the air.

“Er yes, a while back. Twice. On my trousers.”

“Well those jeans are coming off, I can tell you. And your boxers! You can keep your rugby shirt and socks on. I rather like them!”

He was relieved that she liked those, perhaps this was just going to be a sexy sort of game? She made him bend over a little coffee table in front of the TV. He was on all fours with his arse sticking out nicely.

“How many?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Bah! How many will it take to make me happy? Maybe ten or twenty!”

“Twenty? That’s a hell of a lot.”

“No, it’s not. Yes, we’ll make it twenty. Prepare yourself!”

Soon the air was full of the sound of the cane swishing down on the peachy buttocks. It landed with a resounding and satisfying thwack each time. Judith was enjoying it enormously, and chuckling out loud! Jason wasn’t enjoying it one bit, but at least the strokes were not quite as beastly as those given by Gerald.

“My naughty, naughty husband! Don’t mess with me! Stick your bottom out for the second ten!”

Just then her mobile rang. Should she answer it? Yes, she should. It was her dad on the line. He must have a psychic link!

“I’m just using the cane for the first time. It’s the best wedding present we could have had. Yes, bare bottom! The place was a real pig sty.”

Jason blushed. Oh, the embarrassment!

“Twenty I think. You think it should be twenty-four? Yes, more traditional, I suppose. But no, I’m going to stick at twenty. No, he won’t be doing it again in a hurry. I’m halfway through. Yes, lovely red lines. He’s making a lot of fuss. How’s mum? Yes, we’ll come over for tea later. Bye. Love you!”

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne, reposted by popular demand…

Sergeant Dexter couldn’t believe his eyes. The tip-off had been correct. Through his binoculars he could see a young couple, as naked as jaybirds, fornicating in the strawberry fields for which the village was famed. Although we were in the enlightened late 1950s, this was an outrage even by the prevailing modern, progressive standards.

He watched as the young man’s naked bottom bobbed up and down as he serviced his willing female companion. When to interrupt? Now, mid-flight as it were? Or afterwards, as the young lovers came back down to earth?

He decided to watch a little longer, as he was impressed by the young man’s technique. Indeed, the Sergeant was learning that his own skills were perhaps a little dated as he watched the youth driving and thrusting into the maiden. Suddenly, they swapped, and the girl went on top, sliding the man’s erect penis into her. The man massaged her ample breasts and then the lovers kissed passionately.

The Sergeant admired the lilly white feminine buttocks as they bounced around. They begged for a spanking, and were quite a contrast to the hairy male ones he had been watching only a few moments earlier. Indeed, our policeman was finding all of this a most rare and entertaining spectacle. His own penis was rising to the occasion, and for a brief moment, he considered masturbating right there and then in the Austin patrol car. He decided against, as it would be undignified, and there was also a slim chance he could be caught himself. He’d never live it down!

It was a lengthy session of lovemaking. Obviously, the young man had very good control, something again that the Sergeant could only dream of. Eventually, the lovers climaxed and fell into each others arms. Now was the time to strike!

The Sergeant gathered his notebook, pencil, truncheon and handcuffs. He slammed the door of the patrol car noisily, causing the lovers to stir from their post-coital embrace.

“Caught you!” announced the Sergeant. He recognised both of them, “George Trevose and Susan Waterman, whatever will your parents say?”

“Sergeant, we’re both eighteen, don’t tell them please,” requested young George, “You don’t have to tell, do you?”

“Yes I do! You’re not even twenty-one, yet here you are disgracing yourselves in the open air. Get dressed! We’re going down to the station.”

He bundled the hastily-clothed pair into the patrol car and they drove off to the police station, which was located in the local market town. There he read his copious notes out loud to a couple of his colleagues, as the lovers squirmed with embarrassment.

The policemen huddled in conspiratorial conversation behind the reception desk. Suddenly, there was raucous laughter! George and Susan wondered what on earth was going on. Eventually, Sergeant Dexter called them over and announced that they were to join him in the interview room.

In the room, the Sergeant picked up the bakelite receiver of the telephone. He then rang the local chairman of magistrates, Colonel R C H Smith (retd.). They spoke at length about the incident, while across the interview table, the lovers held hands tenderly.

“Yes, totally naked. Unofficial punishment, you say? If the parents agree? I suppose so. Yes, yes. We do have a selection of canes here. Yes, nice and whippy. Sting like the devil. Good idea. I quite agree, Sir. I’ll put it to the lad. I’ll keep you informed, yes, of course.”

Young George wasn’t stupid. He knew what was coming from the half of the conversation he had heard. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what was to happen to his partner in crime, Susan Waterman.

The Sergeant spoke, “The chair of the magistrates is most annoyed with you two. If it weren’t a bank holiday weekend, a special court might have been convened. He’s a great believer in swift justice. So he’s suggested unofficial punishment, if you agree. It will be a caning for young Trevose, and I’ll talk to your parents, Susan, about what we are to do about you. Are you both agreeable? You’re getting off very lightly, considering. I understand that this naked exhibitionism has been happening on a regular basis. Well, do you both agree?”

The lovers nodded dejectedly.

“Right then! Here’s what’s going to happen. I will cane Trevose. Eighteen hard strokes. One stroke for each year of his age, as prescribed by the magistrate. The caning will be on the bared posterior, of course. After the caning, he can walk home. I will drive Susan back home, and talk to her parents.”

“So I don’t even get a lift back to the village? Shit!” said George.

“Watch your tongue, young man!” admonished the Sergeant. Meanwhile, tears of shame and fear rolled down Susan’s face. Her father would be furious! He might even withdraw her meagre allowance.

“Let’s get on with it then. Susan, you will remain here. WPC Green will arrive in a minute to keep an eye on you. George, you will accompany me next door for your punishment. Try to keep the noise down, as Susan will hear otherwise.”

As it transpired, it was all too easy for the sounds from the adjacent room to be heard. The Sergeant had left the door wide open deliberately, and the WPC did the same with the interview room door.

The first crack of the cane on the naked flesh of George Trevose was wickedly loud and accompanied by a pitiful “Owww!”

A second stroke seemed even louder and from the room the order from the Sergeant for Trevose to keep still could be heard. A third and a fourth stroke lashed down.

The fifth stroke must have been extra hard as the victim shrieked loudly and was admonished by the Sergeant, “Shut up and take it like a man!”

The caning was worse than anything George Trevose had experienced at his school. The next five strokes were lashed down quickly.

In the interview room, Susan’s eyes were filling with tears again as she listened to her lover being thrashed by the brute of a policeman. The WPC offered her no support, just a cold, steely stare, occasionally punctuated by a smirk when a hard cane stroke broke the silence.

There was a long gap before the eleventh stroke. The Sergeant was admiring his work. How pleasing the buttocks looked now that they were covered in the vicious red tramlines donated by the cane. It was quite a contrast to the unmarked but hairy bottom the Sergeant had watched in the strawberry fields.

With a sigh, strokes eleven and twelve cut into the naked flesh causing a loud squeal from Trevose. Again, the Sergeant stopped and admired the sight before him. What a pity there wasn’t more sanctioning of this sort of unofficial punishment, he thought to himself. In truth, it was dying out slowly and this would be one of the last occasions that the Sergeant would enjoy what was becoming something of a passion for him.

“Shit!” the Sergeant muttered, annoyed that so few disciplinary opportunities were available to him. He sliced the cane down hard again and again until the full sentence of eighteen strokes had been delivered. The painful payload had caused George Trevose to slump exhausted over the chair which had been bent over.

“Get up! Get dressed and get out!” the Sergeant instructed. Next door, WPC Green admired his masterliness. He’d have made a wonderful headmaster she reflected, as she ejected Susan from the interview room, gleefully aiming a slap at the miscreant’s pert bottom.

The Sergeant drove Susan back to the village. On the way they passed a dejected George Trevose walking home.

“I bet he’s got one sore arse,” the Sergeant guffawed. His bawdy and sadistic comment fell on deaf ears. Susan was more concerned with her own fate. Whatever would her parents say? Her father would be devastated, she felt.

That night, the WPC and Sergeant enjoyed a wild session of lovemaking in his rented house. Somehow, Dexter’s technique had suddenly improved, and WPC Green ended up more satisfied than ever beore. He had learnt a lot from the folly of youth, well, from George Trevose anyway.

Two days later, the Sergeant was cycling from the police station back to the village. Tied with string to the frame of his trusty Raleigh bike was a school cane. Reluctantly, Susan Waterman’s father had agreed that she should be thrashed for her indiscretions. He had begged Sergeant Dexter to carry out the distasteful task. Little did he suspect that the policeman possessed almost indecent flagellant enthusiasm for the task he had been given.

Neighbours peered from behind net curtains as the policeman propped his cycle near the front gate and carefully untied the string holding the cane in place on the frame. The Sergeant had oiled the cane, to increase its suppleness and to protect it from the elements. What a figure he looked in his handsome uniform! The cane he carried made him look quite formidable.

The Watermans hadn’t seen the Sergeant arrive, although he had been expected. He knocked purposefully on the door. Susan’s father duly appeared, looking a bit sheepish.

“Are you sure about all of this, Sergeant?”

As he crossed the threshold, Dexter reminded him, “I saw the whole thing, Mr. Waterman. Quite a disgusting exhibition. No shame at all, these kids.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was thinking no more than six strokes. Cup of tea, Sergeant. Or something stronger?”

“I’d love a bitter, but I’d better not. I’m on duty still. So yes, a tea would be most welcome.”

Waterman shouted up the stairs, “Susan, the Sergeant’s here. Make us a pot of tea please, honey.” Just then Waterman’s wife joined them. She had asked for tea too and sat down with her husband and the policeman.

“Well,” said the Sergeant, “I don’t think six strokes is enough for the disgusting display I endured. Remember, at least one other person in the village must have seen them at it before now. After all, it was a tip-off that alerted all of us at the station to the problem. No, six strokes isn’t enough. Hardly worth me taking the trouble to come over. I’d recommend eight or ten as a minimum. What do you think Mrs. Waterman?”

“Oh, I don’t know officer! I’m thoroughly ashamed of her. I can’t believe they weren’t taking any precautions either! The stupid girl! I don’t want to be a grandmother just yet, thank you very much! Eight strokes seems entirely reasonable to me.”

“The lad took eighteen,” the Sergeant reminded them, “Really, she’s getting off very, very lightly. Eight will suffice, then. Now, one delicate matter to discuss. The lad took his on his bared posterior. How do you feel Susan should get hers?”

“She can have them bare too,” interjected Mr.Waterman. Perhaps more surprisingly his wife nodded silent agreement.

Just then, Susan opened the door, carrying a silver tray with the tea, crockery, milk, sugar and some home-baked cakes on. Her hands were shaking a little, causing the cups to rattle.

“Ah Susan, we were just discussing your punishment,” said her mother. “A caning, just like George’s. On your bare bottom, eight strokes. The Sergeant will do the honours.”

“Not bare, surely? Oh Mum!”

“Yes, talking of which, you can be mother, as it were, and pour us the tea.”

Soon the tea was being sipped, and all eyes were on Susan. Except her own, which were on the cane Sergeant Dexter had brought with him. Strangely, she felt quite excited and was looking forward to showing the officer her bare bottom. She was really quite incorrigible!

“Let’s get on, shall we?” asked the Sergeant taking control. “Skirt up, knickers down, over the arm of the sofa. Hurry up girl!”

Mrs. Waterman admired the masterful way he took charge. Must be trained that way, she mused. She found it quite a turn-on all the same. If only her own husband were made of sterner stuff!

All eyes were now on Susan who bent submissively, flipping her skirt towards the heavens, and gently eased her knickers down. The target was revealed. Dexter licked his lips, and flexed the cane. Mr. Waterman was more embarrassed, and was wondering about the wisdom of the whole set-up.

Swish-crack! The first stroke landed on the girl’s milky-white flesh, causing an angry red line. She gasped, as did her mother. The sting was bad, but somehow Susan forced herself to stick her bottom out ready for a second stroke.

Swish-crack! The second was a little harder, and right on target, causing the girl to writhe with discomfort. She rubbed her thighs together, then relaxed a little, revealing her treasures to the Sergeant. Something was stirring in his police trousers.

Swish-crack! A third forceful stroke almost sent the poor girl flying, as she cried out with pain. Her parents were finding this a suitable punishment for their daughter’s lewd behaviour. Mrs. Waterman in particular had a satisfied grin as she surveyed the red stripes adorning her daughter’s naked bottom.

CRACK! Stroke four was loud and hard. Susan squealed with pain. Her mother’s excitement was mounting as she witnessed the comeuppance her daughter so deserved.

Swish-crack! The fifth landed low, right on the crease and caused the girl to leap up.

“Oh yes!” cried the girl’s mother supportively, “And make it a hard one!”

Mr. Waterman was astonished by his wife’s whip-lust. He sat nervously on his hands as the Sergeant raised the cane high once again.

Crack! CRACK! Two rapid strokes again caused the girl to cry out in torment. Her mother was sat on the edge of her chair willing the officer to beat Susan as hard as humanly possible.

Swish-crack! The eighth stroke was slightly more restrained, but it still caused Susan some distress, as she gasped and wriggled under the cane’s stinging caress.

The ninth stroke was now due. It was the penalty one for jumping up earlier.

“Sergeant Dexter, please make this last one extra hard,” Mrs. Waterman requested. “Susan must be taught to behave herself in public and also to take her punishment with dignity.”

The officer adjusted his trousers and raised the cane before whipping it down viciously. The noise of this final stroke was incredible and resounded all around the poky living room.

“AARGH!” cried Susan as the pain hit home. She started to cry. She was utterly humiliated.

Mrs. Waterman clapped her hands together. “Ah! A most satisfactory lesson for the little minx, I feel. Thank you ever so much, Sergeant. Oh, one thing…”

“Yes, Mrs. Waterman?”

“I wonder whether you could be persuaded to leave the cane here? Perhaps in return for a donation to the Police Benevolent Fund?”

“Of course, of course! You can keep it. After all, you never know when it may come in handy again,” he winked. “And a contribution really isn’t necessary. Times are hard, aren’t they? I’ll just book it as a breakage.”

“Tim, take the cane up to our bedroom,” Mrs. Waterman commanded her husband. She gazed longingly at Sergeant Dexter, her new hero.

Susan was recovering slowly from her beating. Carefully, she slipped her knickers back on. She noticed that the Sergeant wore no wedding ring. She wondered whether perhaps, he didn’t have a girlfriend? Perhaps she should force herself on him?

The Sergeant said his goodbyes and made his way back to his bicycle. It had been a good day, and the sunshine made it feel even better. Before heading back to the police station, he was minded to stop off to masturbate in the strawberry fields.

_____________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This is just a quickie, a short holding piece to remind you that May is International Masturbation Month! Make sure you do your bit to celebrate this month. I found out about it a couple of years ago via a comment on the excellent Hermione’s Heart blog. The comment was from Ronnie, who also runs a great spanking blog, called Heart And Soul.

National Masturbation Month started in the US, but it seems to be taking hold everywhere. It is now sometimes referred to as International Masturbation Month. It was founded in 1995 by Good Vibrations, a sex toy retailer. This was done as a protest about the firing of America’s first African-American Surgeon General, Joycelyn Elders. She was sacked for advocating the teaching of masturbation in sex education classes. She was a victim of bigots. You can read more at the wiki.

Almost everyone enjoys a little masturbation now and then, so grab yourself a piece of the action. Indeed, why not celebrate now as you read the kinky stories here at The Canery?

___________)

Posted by Rod

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This blog is intended for adults only. All listed sites, pictures displayed or referred to in this blog feature consenting adult models and players over the age of 18. All stories and artwork featured are fiction only and refer to adults in role play. This blog is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

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The Cane

Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.

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All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey" - Kenji Miyazawa, author and poet (1896-1933)

Thought for another moment

"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what" - Harper Lee, author (1926-2016)

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This site is dedicated to the memory of Jonathan (aka jaybee300), friend, muse, gentleman and master, 1954-2014, R.I.P.